Seems the poor reptile man in such a scene!
But where are they—the forms who lately stood
On that wide floor, so slippery now with blood?
Oh many stay there still, around they sleep
In tortured attitudes of anguish deep,
And some, but few, are fugitives; far down
In the deep gorges of the forest brown,
Are forms that struggle through the long rank grass,
And pause, and start, and tremble as they pass.
And Gilbert—the triumphant—where is he?